The Price of One
by AkamaiMom
Summary: Sam is back in her own body, after having been nearly overwritten by the Entity. Now she and her team must deal with the consequences of their decisions, and Sam must learn at what price she has been saved. Season 4--hinted UST.
1. The Price of One

_**The Price of One**_

For once, the infirmary wasn't crowded.

They had moved her from the isolation room to the general medical facility once her stats had stabilized. She'd wavered briefly between sleep and wakefulness only long enough for her team to smile forcedly at her—trying not to show their concern, their fears. In the end, it had been easier to let the darkness take hold than it was to try to reassure them. She'd allowed her lids to flicker shut, and then fallen back into an exhausted rest. Dreamless. Profound.

She'd woken on her side, the tubes connected to her arms stretched awkwardly across her body. She had lain quietly, gathering herself, placing her thoughts, her memories, back where they belonged.

She'd been within a machine—her body playing host not to a Goa'uld this time, or a Tok'ra, but to a computer program? Sam still didn't quite know how to explain it—how to put it into words so that it made any sense at all.

It had been singularly terrifying—to be conscious inside a mass of tangled wires and monitors and circuit boards. Movement impossible; no self control, no ability to affect anything.

To scream and only hear the whirring of fans and machinery.

Sam rolled her face into the pillow, if only to prove that she could. The fabric felt coarse—cool—too clean. Wonderful. Against her cheek—_her_ cheek—the cheap industrial-strength cotton felt like silk—precious.

Eventually she became aware of how stiff her body was—the way the tape on the IV port pulled at the fine hair on the back of her hand. How her neck protested at its position, how even her toes felt too large, too unwieldy.

From far away, the droning of voices buoyed her. She welcomed them as what they seemed; a sign of humanity. The sound of hard wheels rolling on cement floors, the slide of shoes, a cough, a door opening and then clicking shut. Carter gathered and then placed a rolling squeak, accompanied by moving water and an odd shushing sound. Mopping—the maintenance crew worked somewhere near.

The forced sounds of machines—Sam tried to thrum _those_ out of her head.

She eased her eyes open, and briefly viewed the world with distrust. She'd learned thoroughly that what appeared to be true sometimes wasn't. How many times in the past days had she been certain that she still existed—only to be proven wrong by the confines of motherboards and memory cards?

But for this moment, at least, she could move her fingers—her hands slid within each other, folded as they were under her cheek.

How odd that she'd reverted to this—in her rebirth, she'd slept as a child.

White filled her vision, and Sam searched for and placed the source—buttons, pockets—a lab coat. She focused upward at Janet's face. Her friend had put on her clinically efficient, doctor's face. Worry flitted around the edges—in the corner of her eyes, the crease between her brows, the tightness around her lips. She stoically assessed her patient, laid the backs of her fingers to Sam's cheek, and silently monitored her pulse.

"So, will I live?" Sam's voice sounded foreign, especially to herself.

"I don't think we'll be calling the morgue quite yet." Janet hooked a rolling stool with her foot and drew it close, then sat herself down. "I think you'll be fine—some more rest, a few more tests, and you can probably go home."

Sam regarded the little doctor for a time before moistening her lips with the tip of her dry tongue. "Is there water anywhere?"

Janet frowned and looked around, finally locating a white Styrofoam cup on a small table on the other side of the bed. She stood and reached across the bed, holding her stethoscope in place with her other hand as she grabbed the cup. Leaning, she held it for Sam, angling the straw. "The Colonel brought you some Jell-O earlier, too," she said as Sam took small, deliberate sips. "But you kept sleeping, and so I think he ended up eating it on his own."

Sam swallowed, turning onto her back. She searched for and found the remote and pushed the button that raised the head. As she drew more vertical, she watched Janet sit again. "He thinks Jell-O can cure the worst."

Janet smiled kindly, then ruefully shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows? He may be right."

"Stranger things have happened." Sam felt her chest constrict.

"Yes, they have."

"Many of those things quite recently, as a matter of fact."

"Weird stuff happens around here all the time. Usually to one or more members of your team." Janet's voice rang unnaturally light and cheerful.

"Like being sucked into a machine." She'd truthfully thought she could confront it—but the panic rose again, and her entire body felt hot, and Sam found herself fighting back the trembling that threatened.

Janet sobered, frowning. "Sam—I—"

But Carter was blinking rapidly, one hand hovering over her lips. "I shouldn't have said anything—"

"You need to talk about it."

"I don't want to."

"I know you don't want to." Janet shook her head, her eyes strangely bright. "But you need to."

Sam closed her eyes, lying back against the pillows under her head. Her jaw clenched and unclenched rhythmically as she stared at the ceiling.

"Sam." Janet abandoned her doctor role and allowed herself to speak as a friend. "It wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before. I can't even imagine being inside that—thing. And then when it was speaking—"

"It talked?" Sam's turned her head sharply.

"Using your body, yes. Sort of. We'd given it a machine so that it could communicate." At the look on Sam's face, Janet frowned. "It had chosen you specifically. It reasoned that none of us would endanger it in fear of harming you."

"Turns out it was wrong."

Janet sat back on her stool, focusing in on Sam's face. "What do you mean, Sam?"

"Didn't he shoot me?" There was no need to clarify further. No need to enunciate _who_ had shot twice.

"Zatted."

"Whatever. Twice—right?"

Janet regarded Sam for several long, coarse moments before nodding. "Yes. Twice."

"So I should be dead."

"Yes."

Sam worried at her bottom lip. Her expression shuttered. A glance at Janet revealed a friend fiercely divided between what to say and what to hide.

"I need to know the truth." Sam's voice sounded abnormally low, emotionally mechanical. "What exactly happened?"

Janet scooted closer with a sigh. "How much do you remember?"

"Not much—I put my hands on the keyboard, and then I just—wasn't there anymore."

"Could you hear anything?"

Sam grimaced. "It was more like _feeling_ voices. Lots of voices. Millions." She closed her eyes against the memory, her jaw clenching against a wave of nausea and tense despair. "Like standing on a busy city street in a foreign country with people rushing all around you—but you're not important, and you don't understand. And they just keep passing you by without noticing you're there. And the noise—" And here, Sam found her limit. Her lips tightened, and she fell silent.

Janet reached out and placed a hand on Sam's, her touch light. "You don't have to do this, Sam. Get some rest, and we'll talk more later."

"Yes." A new voice intruded. "Talk later. Eat now."

Sam opened her eyes slowly and found the newcomer. His hair seemed grayer, somehow, his clothing wrinkled beyond normal. He stood near the foot of the bed, hesitant, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a parfait dish.

"You brought more Jell-O?"

"Well," the Colonel's mouth curved slightly. "I deprived you of the last serving, so I came to replace it."

"Thank you, sir."

Janet stood and pushed the stool away. With a lingering touch on Sam's hand, she looked her friend over one more time. Pointing a meaningful glance over her shoulder at O'Neill, she squeezed briefly on Sam's fingers. "I'll be in the office if you need me. Just call."

Sam nodded, and watched as she clicked away.

The Colonel pulled his hand out of his pocket and caught the stool as it neared him. Guiding it back towards the bed, he threw a look at Janet's departing form. "She letting you out of here soon?"

"I guess." Carter watched as he reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and withdrew a plastic spoon wrapped in a napkin. "I'm really not certain, sir. She said that there would be more tests."

"Ah—tests." The Colonel chunked the spoon into the contents of the parfait dish, then placed it on the little table next to the bed, beside the cup of water. He stared at it for a moment. "Mother's milk to our good doctor."

"She's very thorough."

"Yes." A shadow passed over his expression, his lips flattening. "She is that."

"Sir?"

But his face had already re-masked itself, and his eyes gave nothing away. "So. When is she going to spring you?"

"I don't know." Sam frowned. "And you already asked me that, sir."

"Oh. Right." He shoved his hands into his pockets, standing next to the bed, staring at her without quite looking at her. For long, silent moments, he held his pose, as the crevice between his eyebrows deepened.

"Was there something else, sir?"

He caught her gaze, and something deep and brooding flickered in his expressive eyes before being shuttered. "No. I just thought you might want some company."

"Yes. Thank you." Sam watched as he found the stool that Janet had vacated earlier. "Although, if there's something else you need to do, sir. Feel free."

"No." He shook his head, looking down at his own hands. "Nothing at all."

"Because I'm fine. Really."

"Really?" O'Neill looked up at her, and as usual, he saw too much. "Because I don't see how that's possible, given the circumstances."

"Sir, I—"

"Carter—I zatted you twice."

"I know."

"So, all that crap about being fine." He stopped himself, his lips and jaw impossibly tight.

"It's not crap, sir." Sam shook her head, and grimaced at the pain the movement caused. Stilling her movements, she frowned at her commanding officer. "I'll _be _fine."

He leaned over and picked up the parfait dish and held it out to her. "Here. I brought grub."

Sam reached out and grasped the dish when he thrust it at her, then half-heartedly spooned up a bite. She wasn't hungry, even though she knew she needed to eat. It felt foreign, the process of inserting a portion and processing it with her parched tongue.

He must have noted her hesitation. "I should have brought you something else."

Sam swallowed. "No, sir. Thanks for this. I appreciate it."

"It's the least I could do." He looked down at his hands, his forearms resting on his thighs. "After all that's happened."

"Please don't, sir."

"Don't what?"

"Blame yourself for any of this."

He tilted his head to one side. "Carter, do you even know what happened?"

"Yes—sort of—but it wasn't your fault."

"And you know this how?"

She fell silent. And, feeling like a coward, she averted her gaze from his and stared down at the Jell-O instead.

"Carter—things need to be said." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "About how this went down."

Carter frowned at the dish still in her hands. The blue of the gelatin caught at the light overhead, and Sam was momentarily struck by how pretty it was—like sunshine on smooth water, or like the gentle glisten of the event horizon in an active 'Gate. She forced herself to look away, though, and turned her head to see the Colonel sitting closer than she'd realized, his whole attention on her. She closed her eyes briefly, bringing herself back into the present. "I understand why you did it, sir."

"Do you?" His tone reeked of his disbelief. "Because I don't think you do."

"What don't you think, Jack?" The curtain swooshed wide, revealing Daniel standing just behind the Colonel. He stepped into the opening between Sam's bed and the neighboring one, turned slightly, and then hopped up so that he was sitting on the empty bed. "Hey, Sam."

"Hi, Daniel." Sam offered him a smile of sorts. She turned her attention to her CO, waiting for him to respond to Daniel's question. But the Colonel only stared down at his hands, his eyes narrowed, his mouth tight.

"Jack?" Daniel scowled. "What don't you think?"

The Colonel sat silent, unmoving. Sam could see his jaw working, knew that he was fighting for control.

"Jack?" Daniel needled. "If you have something to say—just say it." He paused, and rolled his eyes at the O'Neill's continued silence. "I mean—you've had so much to opine about everything else lately. Or is it just that you know that Sam wouldn't approve?"

"Shut up, Daniel." Jack's eyes slid closed, then opened quickly to focus in on Carter frowning at him—confused. He dropped his gaze again to his feet.

"Nope. Not shutting up." Daniel shifted on the bed, casting a look towards Sam that almost bled triumph. "Not when I'm right. Not when I know she'll agree with me."

The Colonel didn't answer. He stood suddenly, sending the stool sliding backwards with such force that it hit the far wall. Glaring pointedly at Daniel, he then captured Carter's attention for a breathless, silent instant before pivoting and stalking from the room.

"Wow." Daniel shrugged. "I guess he knows that I'm going to win this one."

"This one what?" Carter turned toward him, adjusting the tube going into her arm as she moved. "What are you going to win, Daniel?"

Daniel sighed heavily and adjusted his glasses. "Well, he and I had a difference of opinion about what to do."

"About me?"

"Yes."

"About the thing—the machine."

"We didn't know what to call it. We started calling it the 'entity' after a while." Daniel's eyes went wide. "Well, we couldn't call it 'Sam'—it wasn't you." Sam's look prompted him to continue. "Anyway, it didn't want to leave your body, so I tried to talk to it. To reason with it."

"Reason with it?" Sam couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice.

"It was making conscious decisions—it was intelligent." Daniel squinted, cocking his head to one side. "What do you remember of it, anyway?"

Sam closed her eyelids and took a deep breath, trying to quell the coldness seeping back into her body. She started speaking quietly, finally able to reopen her eyes and focus on Daniel. "I remember putting my hands on the keyboard—I remember trying to do things and not being able to. I couldn't see or hear—touch—I could only think. I remember a feeling like a rushing—I'm not sure how to explain it." Sam raised a hand to her eyes, covering them, as if to return to the void. "It was dark before, and after the rush there was heat, and lights—and I could think, and the machine responded."

"That was when you figured out how to send the message?"

"Yeah." She moved her fingers down towards her mouth. Her single bite of Jell-O was threatening at the back of her throat.

"Good thing—Jack and General Hammond were about to blow up the mainframe thing."

"They were?"

"They were setting the claymores when your message came through."

"How did I get back here?" She didn't need to indicate her own body—Daniel knew precisely what she meant.

"Janet figured out a conduit."

"And the entity?"

"It was gone by then."

"Gone where?"

Daniel scrunched up his face. "Yeah—well, that's the part where Jack and I disagreed. I proposed sending it back through the 'Gate if it left your body."

"And the Colonel?"

"He threatened to destroy its entire civilization."

Sam frowned. "I don't—"

"Radio signals—waves—whatever—are harmful in its world. When we sent the probe, it apparently did some major destruction. The entity piggy-backed back through on our own signal in order to stop us so that we couldn't do any more to the civilization."

"But it left voluntarily?"

"Only after Jack threatened to send hundreds of probes back to finish what the first one started."

Sam couldn't speak. She'd been in favor of communication—had even sympathized as to where the entity had been coming from. Her words had been in earnest when she'd spoken about understanding the being's plight—stranded, and fighting for survival. But then she'd been overcome by it—had felt the cold disinterest of it invading her body. She shuddered, convulsed, fought for breath. She wondered if this is how the Jaffa felt as she and her teammates blew them all to hell. Terrified. Helpless. A wave of compassion surged through her—combined with a healthy dose of disgust. She couldn't make sense of her feelings—didn't understand herself at all.

"Sam? You all right?"

But she couldn't answer. She caught at Daniel's gaze with eyes that were full, gleaming, and pained.

Daniel slid off the bed and took a few steps to stand next to her. He lowered his hand and rubbed some warmth back into her bare arm. "Sam—do you need me to get Janet?"

"No." Her voice cracked. "Just tell me he didn't do it."

"Do what?" Daniel knelt at her bedside, stroking her arm, calming, soothing. "Sam? Talk to me."

She looked at him, a stark awareness in her eyes. "Tell me that Colonel O'Neill didn't destroy them all just to save me."


	2. Back to Life

_The Price of One_

_Back to Life_

She kept hearing voices. Completely unintelligible, they were still individual. Whatever else the Entity had been, it had not been alone.

The voices weren't real. Sam felt certain that they weren't actually echoing as they seemed to be in her mind. But she would turn her head the wrong way, lose focus on something, or close her eyes, and there they would be—hovering within her psyche like memories, or like the constant needle of guilt.

Although what she had to feel guilty about, she couldn't quite pin-point.

She hadn't done anything wrong that she could think of.

Daniel had left the evening before without being able to reassure her about anything at all. In the end, Janet had broken the news that O'Neill had, indeed, destroyed the entire population of beings within her—the twin Zat blasts had decimated the Entity just after it had assured her own consciousness' safe return to the memory mainframe in the MALP room. Sam was grateful that she had been out from amongst them at that point—she wasn't sure she could have handled the screams.

Their destruction hadn't been her intention. But they hadn't asked her; had never attempted communication with her. They had instead teemed around her like moths around a porch light, circling her, brushing her with feathery wings, but never alighting—certainly never acknowledging she was even there. Sam couldn't drum up sympathy for them—just as they'd never shown any interest in her other than as a vehicle.

But just as she hated the wanton destruction of Jaffa—or any other of the varied cultures they'd come across—she also loathed the idea of demolishing whatever they were that had inhabited her. Who was she, after all, to say which was of more worth?

The Entity or Herself?

But maybe that was just her inner scientist talking.

Sam stared down at her hands, confused momentarily by the wad of fabric in them. She'd been doing something before being overcome yet again by the noise in her head—it took an inordinate amount of concentration to recognize the black t-shirt she held. And to realize that she still sat on the hospital bed, secreted behind the ubiquitous flimsy curtain, wearing only the pair of men's boxers she favored and a sports bra.

She was being discharged. Janet had offered to drive her home—but clothing was an essential point in that plan. Carter held the shirt out in front of her, making sense of seams and openings. It was inside out—she forced herself to remember how to correct that. As she pulled it on over her head, the brief period of darkness sent her hurtling back towards panic.

Her pants were easier to deal with. Hopping down off the bed, it was a simple matter of unfolding them before going through the motions of putting them on. Leg, leg, button, zip. She found her shoes—her civilian shoes which someone must have purloined from her locker—and slid them on.

"Sam?" Janet poked her head around the edge of the curtain. Seeing her friend upright, the doctor's expression turned decidedly disapproving. "Samantha Carter. I told you to wait for me before standing up. You know you might have needed help."

"I'm fine, Janet."

"I'll be the judge of that. I'm the doctor here."

"Uh—I hate to inform you, Janet, but I'm a doctor, too." The words were coming more readily, now, and Sam found herself anticipating the next volley.

"Wrong kind, Samantha." Janet raised her eyebrows and ducked her chin—her mom voice accompanied her use of Sam's full name. "Now let me take a look at you."

"I'm fine, Janet."

"Sam." Ooh—the number of times the Doctor had used that tone were too many to count.

"Really." Sam spread her hands out at her sides, turning fully towards the physician. "See? All dressed up and ready to go out."

"And how's the head?" Dr. Fraiser rounded the curtain and entered the private space. She'd removed her white lab coat preparatory to heading home, and stood in the clothes she normally wore to work—navy skirt and light blue shirt.

Beside her, wearing her green BDU pants and black t shirt, Sam felt a little underdressed. She smiled, anyway. "The head's fine—I just feel a little wonky."

"Wonky?"

"Wonky—it's a highly technical term." Sam was amazed that her own voice could sound that light again. She hoped she was saying the right words—the buzzing in her brain sort of muffled her ability to hear herself.

"For what?" Janet grinned. "Bizarro?"

"Crapola?"

"Freaky."

Sam found herself smiling. This felt normal—this exchange with her best friend. "Freaky. That is how I feel right now. Just freaky." But the statement came out sounding more pathetic than pithy. Uneasy, she thrust her hands towards her pockets and felt her cheeks redden when she missed. Lamely, she let her hands flop uselessly at her sides.

"Well, come on, Major Carter. Let's get you home and comfortable." Janet pretended she hadn't seen the bobble—holding back the curtain with the back of her hand. "You need food, rest, and a lot of trashy television."

Sam started forward, only to stop at her friend's side and catch her eye. "In that sequence?"

"Absolutely." The doctor guided Sam with her free hand. "Doctor's orders."

----OOOOOOO----

For as long as Sam could remember, her internal alarm clock had been stuck on six in the morning. No matter what time she went to bed, she could be sure to open her eyes and see the digital numbers on her bedside clock flip to six.

The house lay quiet around her—early morning sunlight filtered in through the sheers on her window, pinkish and musty. She stretched and then lay still, waiting, but no little voices invaded her mind.

Maybe the worst was over.

Sitting up, Sam threw back the covers and stretched forward, then tossed her legs over the side of her bed and stood.

Bathroom first, then food.

What she was supposed to eat, she didn't know—to the best of her knowledge, she had been at the SGC for well over a week—and she hadn't done any grocery shopping for at least a week before that. Chances were, the milk and eggs in the fridge were on the shady side, and Sam had always had a healthy respect for the "use by" dates on dairy.

She contemplated dry cold cereal as she washed her hands, catching her grimace in the mirror as she reached for the hand towel. Standing up straight, Sam silently assessed herself in the reflective surface. The static bathroom lighting wasn't kind. She looked tired—and pale, and not just a little older than she'd remembered. Yielding to vanity, she finger-combed her short hair, then absently opened the little medicine cabinet and found some cleanser and moisturizer. Running some warm water, she washed her face and throat, patted her skin dry with the hand towel, then dabbed on the cream. The simple routine calmed her, and the next glimpse she had of herself in the mirror proved somewhat more recognizable.

How long had it been since she looked at her own reflection? She wasn't one to embrace the mirror—years of military training had drummed all thoughts of vanity out of her. Long ago, she had grudgingly acknowledged that other people found her reasonably attractive. But now, in her small bathroom, she couldn't figure out why.

Too pale. Her eyes too round. Her lips too wide. Hair too short. Chin too—what—stubborn? The female side of her urged her hand towards the drawers at her left, where her sparse supply of make-up beckoned. Would that have been giving in? She felt at once weak for denying herself the blusher and mascara, and also something else—female? human?—for having wanted it in the first place.

With disgust, she slammed the mirrored cabinet shut, jumping at the clatter that it made. Certainly, the few bottles of medicines she kept in there would tumble down the next time she opened the door, but she couldn't dwell on that—it was a thought to be taken up later, when she felt stronger.

She'd gone to bed dressed—yoga pants and a tank top. She eschewed shoes as she exited her bedroom, enjoying, for the moment, the sensation of cold wood floor against the soles of her feet. Down the hall, she paused at the guest room door, listening for signs that Janet was awake, but hearing nothing more than steady breathing.

Initially, she'd been aiming for the kitchen, but a glance out the window on the front of her house caused her to break course. She flipped the dead bolt on the front door and headed out. Shivering slightly in the early morning chill, she stepped onto the top step of her porch and smiled at the man standing on the walk way leading up to her stoop. He had just arrived, and was still shoving his keys into his front jeans pocket with one hand, while balancing a cardboard tray with three cups of coffee with the other. He looked up as she closed the door behind her.

"Hey, Sam."

"Hi, Daniel."

"I figured you'd be awake." He took several steps closer to the house, stopping directly in front of the bottom step, his toes touching the base of it. "You're always up by six."

"Yeah, well." Sam shrugged. Folding her arms around her body, she stepped down onto the second step and lowered herself onto the porch. "Stinking internal clock. Needs to be reset."

Daniel smiled. "Yes, it does." He watched her—too closely—before moving to seat himself next to her. Placing the tray on the step between them, he then shrugged out of the jacket he wore, draping it around Sam's shoulders before readjusting the light sweater he'd had on beneath. "You cold? Do you want to go inside?"

"No. This is good. Refreshing." She looked down at the jacket and then pulled it more closely around herself. It carried with it Daniel's warmth—his smell. She found herself lowering her face into it, rubbing her cheek along the ribbing on the collar. She had been cold—but she wasn't sure what had alleviated it—her friend's jacket, or the friend himself. And when he handed her one of the cups out of the tray, she held the lid directly under her nose and inhaled the steam. Delicious.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good." The response emerged automatically, without thought. She sipped from her cup, stalling as she reconsidered. Sighing, she licked her lips and tried again. "Weird. Odd. Different. All of that. And good. Better, at least."

"I figured." Daniel nodded. The sun glinted off the frames of his glasses, and he squinted into the dawn. "I don't know how you've handled all of this so far."

"Me either." She stole a look at him before nudging his shoulder with her own. "And right now, I kind of feel in the middle of things."

"How so?"

"Well, you and the Colonel disagreed about how to initially deal with the—Entity—and then while I was—" Here she paused, searching for the right word, "—away, apparently you and the Colonel had some more issues?"

Daniel squinted at her, his narrowed eyes asking for understanding. "Sam, I'm sorry for how I acted the other day. But it was hard, seeing you like that."

"I know—and Janet's told me what she could, what she knew—but I think I need to know more."

"Are you sure you really want to hear all of this?" Incredulity and compassion blazed across his features. "You've just gotten out of the infirmary."

"I know, Daniel. But I need to get this all behind me."

"I'm not so sure that's going to be possible."

"Daniel—what happened?" She closed her eyes briefly, opening them back up to focus intently on his face, his expressive eyes. "What is everyone so afraid to tell me? I already know that the Colonel zatted me. I know that he blames me for what happened. He's angry."

"Yes, he is."

She felt her fingers tighten around the cup. "About what? What did I do, exactly?"

He sighed, and took a bracing sip from his cup before swallowing deliberately and squaring his shoulders. "You're a soldier."

"Yes."

"And a scientist."

"So? What about it?"

"Sam, there are times when the two are diametrically opposed to each other—when your duties as a soldier must supersede those you carry as a theoretical astrophysicist, and vice versa. SGC ops have given you the opportunity to explore both sides—but in this case, they came into direct contest."

"Because I wanted to communicate with the Entity."

"Yes. And although it was the right thing to do—should have been the right thing to do—the military side of this operation immediately concluded that the resulting complications with the Entity were a direct result of science gone wrong. You know how they are about this stuff—shoot first and ask questions later."

"Is that what happened at the end? The Colonel shot first?"

Daniel paused, his expression darkening. After a long time, he shook his head. "No. I know that it was done as a last resort. He was—" Daniel turned his cup around and around in his hands, searching for words. "He was hurt afterwards. It was worse than after he'd shot Skaara."

Sam nodded. She remembered O'Neill's expression in the seconds after he'd fired on the Abydonian man—broken, shuttered—he'd hated himself at that moment, even while recognizing that it had been the right thing to do. For such a fiercely loyal man, however, it had been torturous to have to be the one to pull the trigger.

"And when he zatted my body, it destroyed the population within." Sam took another thoughtful sip of her coffee. "He didn't know that the Entity was transferring my consciousness to the mainframe in the MALP room."

"He didn't ask, either, Sam. He saw it doing something that scared him, and he whipped out the weapon and killed it." Daniel shook his head, looking away from Sam out over the street and into the park across the way. "Typical military. Typical Jack."

Sam closed her eyes against the memories—the rushing sounds, the sudden awareness she'd experienced of light and heat. The voices had been a cacophony in that time—wild, furious, raw—Sam had welcomed the change even as she'd known that something horrific was occurring. Even as she'd hoped to awaken in her own sphere, with the voices blaring in their own. Whatever else, however much she'd desired to return to her own frame of existence, she hadn't wanted it to be at the expense of so obvious an intelligent, advanced race of beings. But still. The soldier side of her knew why the Colonel had done it. "He was trying to protect the base."

"He was trying to get rid of something he didn't understand. _We_ were trying to learn about it." Daniel moved his cup in a circle, with a movement that could have been either stirring the liquid within, or an outlet for nervousness. When he spoke again, bitterness colored his words. "Military versus science. And as usual, science lost."

Sam ducked her chin, quelling the tremble that threatened to engulf her. What if it hadn't? Would she have been lost in the mainframe forever? Would the Colonel and Siler have detonated the explosives and effectively destroyed her? And if her body had continued living without her consciousness—what then? Janet had confided her conversation with the Colonel—about her living will. Sam had written that out early in her career, largely due to experiences she'd had as a child watching her grandmother succumb to the bleakness of Alzheimer's.

In the end, Grandma lived for eight years with the disease, losing all memory of everything—forgetting even how to swallow. Three years after diagnosis, long after she had lost the ability to recognize anyone around her, she'd contracted pneumonia and stopped breathing. A well meaning doctor had resuscitated her, bringing her back to full health. Grandma had lived an empty, dark life for five more years.

Sam would never want to live that way—having lost all vestige of humanity, all power to control herself. A specific image of her once-proud, once-vibrant Grandmother haunted her. Sam had been around thirteen when they'd gone to visit Grandma on her birthday. When they'd arrived at the care facility where she'd lived, they'd found her with her hands bandaged. And there Grandma sat, in her bed, staring at the dressings in confusion, tears pouring down her paper-like cheeks. When they'd asked, the nurse had informed them that Grandma had chewed off the tip of her own finger.

Had the doctor saved her Grandmother by breathing life back into her body? Or had that act been little more than a sentence to five more years of torment?

Sam forced the cup up to her lips, taking a sip that did nothing to push back the hateful cold that had invaded her.

Had the Colonel's actions been merely methodically efficient? Had he been merely protecting the base? Or was there something Sam was missing?

Because the chill in her spine had nothing to do with the thought of military protocol versus scientific discovery. Sam frowned, staring down at her bare toes—so pale that they were practically transluscent. Long ago she'd had a pedicure with Janet and Cassie, and the last of the hot pink polish she'd chosen still clung to the middles of her big toenails in stubborn, tiny flakes.

Stubborn, tiny lives, clinging to whatever they had to in order to survive. She couldn't keep her body from trembling this time.

"Sam?" Daniel reached over and rubbed her back—comforting. "What's wrong?"

"It's all my fault."

"What's all your fault?"

"This whole situation." Sam's fingers gripped the Styrofoam of the cup with enough strength to leave dents. "I wanted to talk to it—I wanted to make contact. I even pulled up that particular planet to send the MALP to. I couldn't take back control of my body from the Entity, I didn't have the strength—and then he was forced to make that decision. He was forced into that situation."

"Don't absolve him of responsibility, Sam. Jack's no saint."

"No, but he's not a monster, either." Sam turned to look at Daniel, capturing his deep blue gaze with her own. "He doesn't enjoy killing."

"I understand that. But he could have given us more time."

"To do what? Negotiate?"

"Or try to work something else out."

"He was doing what he thought was right."

Daniel snorted. "I can't believe you're sticking up for him."

"What else am I supposed to do, Daniel? He's my commanding officer as well as my—" here she faltered.

"Your what, Sam?" Daniel's voice needled. "Your friend? Your boss?" He didn't need to go on.

But she could only shake her head and grip the cup more tightly.

After a long while, Daniel took a deep breath. "I know that you and Jack are close." He measured his words, his thoughts, out carefully. "I know that you share something that neither Teal'c nor I can be part of—being as you are career military."

"Daniel—"

"But I also know that your passion for the scientific aspects of your job is, at times, all consuming. You need that balance in your life because, in the end, your need for that kind of discovery is like your need for breath."

She canted her head away from him, hiding her expression. She knew he was right, but couldn't show that to him. Couldn't give that away just yet.

"If that is squelched out of you by the shortsightedness of this command—you know that will kill you." Daniel stood, turning partially on the step to face her. "Just as surely as that Zat should have."

Sam raised her face to his, stunned by the frankness she saw there. She opened her mouth, but found herself unable to speak.

"And I didn't come here to say any of this, Sam, but you need to hear it." Daniel shifted, shaking his head slightly. "It's not your fault. None of this. We were doing the right thing. Jack and General Hammond and the others acted precipitously, they acted rashly. And there might come a time when you'll be asked to choose—science or the Air Force? Because from what I've seen, your science is only as good to them as its military applications."

"I'm not sure I believe that, Daniel."

"I'm committed to the program, too, Sam. I really am. I believe in what we're doing. I believe in the mission. But eventually it's going to take its toll on you, most of all, Major Carter. And whatever you're going to lose will be something huge."

"Are you telling me to quit?"

"No, just be careful." He gestured at her with his cup. "And don't let them make you think that what you did was wrong."

He stood just below her for a few tense moments, finally shrugging and turning, holding his cup in the tips of his fingers as he walked down towards the street. Within a minute his car started, and she watched as he drove away.

He didn't look back.


	3. Truths Within

_The Price of One_

_Truths Within_

"Who was that?"

"Daniel." Her tone left it at that. Sam placed the pressboard tray on the counter, then pulled the still-full cup from it and handed it to Janet. "It's probably a little cold."

"Doesn't matter." Janet laid down the comics section of the paper she'd been reading, accepting the cup eagerly. "It's coffee, right? Therefore it's perfect."

"I suppose." Sam glared at her own cup, then set it down and shoved it away from her. "I guess I'm just not all that hungry."

"You need to eat. You need to keep your strength up."

"For what?" She lowered herself onto the stool at the counter, then rested her face on the palms of her hands, elbows braced on the counter. "I thought SG-1 was on stand down until further notice."

She felt Janet's quiet assessment pass over her, but didn't react.

Janet took a prolonged, deliberate, breath. "Okay, Sam. Then you need to regain your strength. You were out of it for a while. IV foods and nutrients aren't the same as a cheeseburger and fries."

"So now you're recommending junk food?"

"I thought I'd already prescribed that." Janet dimpled into a huge smile. "Along with some trashy TV."

Despite the situation, or perhaps in spite of it, Sam found herself smiling back. "What kind of trashy are we talking?"

"Oh—let's see." The doctor reached for the paper, opening it to the TV schedule. "Jerry Springer?"

"I think that would amount to torture in most of the galaxy."

Janet nodded. "You're probably right. So—um—Oprah?"

"Nah." Sam shook her head. "I don't really do talk shows. Too—talky-talk-touchy-feely—not enough action."

"I know—but we can always hope that you'll change your ways." The doctor returned to the paper, scanning it quickly. "You know, unless you prescribe to some premium channels, which I know you don't, there isn't all that much that qualifies as both trashy and watchable."

"How about something on the Discovery channel?"

Janet groaned and rolled her eyes. "What is it with you and the Discovery channel?"

"The Learning Channel?"

Janet lowered one corner of the paper and peered at Sam appraisingly. "Lifetime?"

"You mean the Victim Network?" Sam snorted. "I _love_ that station. That's the one where every woman is a victim of some sort and every man is a piece of crap. And then the victim must find a way to get rid of said piece of crap, and she's accused of murder and put in prison for only trying to protect herself and not be made into a victim. And then there's some sort of vindication, and she's let out of the slammer just in time for some major holiday where everyone cries. Good times." She pretended to wipe away a tear.

"Wow, Sam." Janet's expressive face couldn't hide her fascination at her friend's outburst. "Got sarcasm?"

Sam, however, showed no remorse. "It's either that, or addiction, or an eating disorder or something. But every woman on that network is either evil or a victim. It's ridiculous."

Janet stared at Sam for a long moment. "I've never thought of it that way, but you're kind of right."

"Yeah, I'm right." Sam raised her head, gesturing with both hands. "If an alien race were to watch just that station, it would blast away all the men on Earth in order to save the race."

Janet smiled, then shrugged. "Not all men are arrogant jerks. Surely these aliens would figure that out eventually."

"Hmm." Sam nodded. "You're right, I suppose. They're not all bad."

"We know some great guys, don't we?" Janet's words, chosen carefully, obviously hit a nerve. Sam's face suddenly tightened.

"Yeah. I guess."

Janet watched as her friend looked down at the counter, where her fingers were tracing random patterns on the cool, smooth surface. "Sam?"

"Hmm?" She looked up, catching the doctor's eye.

"What did Daniel want?"

Immediately, Sam's gaze closed up. She sat up straight on the stool and raised her hands to her hair, running her fingers through the tousled strands.

"Sam?"

Carter sighed, looking heavenward briefly before returning her attention to Janet. "He brought coffee."

"I saw that."

"And he said that Colonel O'Neill didn't have any use for my science beyond blowing things up."

Janet's mouth tightened into an "O" without making a sound. Tilting her head to one side, she raised her brows slightly, urging her friend to continue.

"Which I don't agree with." Sam shook her head, but her expression showed blatant skepticism in direct contradiction with her own words. "Not at all."

"Really?"

Sam regarded her carefully. "Do you agree with him?"

"Sam. We've all seen it over and over again." Janet's voice was gentle. "We've all seen how they all rely on you time after time to step in and save the day. I know how much pressure you must be under all the time. It's not good for you—either for your health or for your decision making skills."

Sam frowned. "Are you saying that my reasoning abilities have become compromised lately?"

"No." Pursing her lips, Janet shook her head slowly. "That's not what I'm saying at all. What I'm saying is that Daniel has a point."

Sam dropped her head to stare down at the counter. She felt herself scowl, knew that she wasn't completely in control of her reactions. She'd waited until she felt sure of herself—her emotions—before reentering the house. But she'd also recognized her own self-deceit when she shrugged out of Daniel's jacket in the entry way and kicked it into the hall closet.

His words hadn't been nearly as comforting or warm as the clothing and coffee.

"So where does that leave me? If I'm only good for blowing things up, that is."

"Of course you're more valuable than that, Sam." Janet took her time folding the paper back up and placing it to one side. Bracing her hands on the edge of the counter before her, she prepared herself mentally before speaking. "We all just want you to be healthy and happy."

"Who's 'we'?" Fingers stalling on the surface in front of her, Sam looked up. "You and Daniel?"

"No, Sam. Your whole team. And me, and Cassie, and all the people who love you."

"Love me."

"Not in a gushy kind of way. I'm not going to suggest a tryst in the linen closet any time soon."

Sam couldn't stop the smile that stole its way across her face. "Yes, well, it would probably be more exciting than what I have now."

"What, do you mean all the hot men in the universe following you around?" The doctor's voice edged at levity, her eyes sparkling. "Stop whining, Sam. Your ocean's a little larger than we Earth-bound girls' ocean, and chock-full of intergalactic fish."

But Sam's grin faded slowly, her expression turning rueful. "In some ways, Janet, it just means there's more for me to lose."

For a long time, they avoided each other's gaze, sliding back into the not so distant past, on a day when too much had been acknowledged, gained, and, ultimately, lost. Janet had been there for Sam that evening, too, as her friend had recovered from the medication and Za'tarc testing. And she'd stood by waiting for the tears, the self-recrimination, the guilt at Sam's having pulled the trigger on the Tok'ra who had never been her lover, yet had held a portion of her heart. Emotions that had finally surfaced days later, when Sam had come over hours after Cassie had gone to bed and collapsed in silent trembling on Janet's couch.

Janet had made her opinion known then, too, once the worst was over. The members of SG-1 were masters at their jobs, amazingly saving the galaxy from evil, the planet from invasion. But they all uniformly sucked at introspective analysis of their own emotions. And continually sweeping emotional aftereffects under the rug couldn't be good for them. It was only a matter of time before one of them broke.

The look on Janet's face told Sam that she wondered if the dam wasn't about to burst.

"I'm fine, Janet."

And she would have sounded fine, if Janet were a stranger. But Janet knew her friend far too well to be brushed off that easily. "You're thinking about Martouf."

"And Lantash." Carter caught the doctor's eye. "It occurred to me sometime last night that history has a weird way of repeating itself."

"And here we are back to discussing things that have never really been dealt with."

"We deal with these things." Sam rose and grabbed her cup of cold coffee. Rounding the corner of the island, she aimed for the sink. She popped off the lid and poured the rest of the brew down the sink. "We just do it in our own ways."

"Yeah—like avoidance and denial."

Opening the cupboard under the sink, Sam threw her cup in the garbage can inside. She hesitated there for a minute, staring at the cup lying at the bottom of the pristine white liner bag. Disposable. How many things lately had become disposable? All those emotions that Janet was referring to—not worth so much when something larger was at stake. Futures, dreams, and desires—those could easily be sublimated when danger loomed low and dark on the horizon. Human life was of little worth to the Goa'uld, and even to other humans, when the criteria hit right. She herself had been rendered disposable during the past week. First by the Entity, and second by the Colonel.

And now by Daniel. Putting forth the notion that she had no more to offer than any other scientist with a gun. Replaceable. Disposable.

With too much force, she shut the door, and it bounced once before seating home. She felt Janet at her back, her hand placed somehow familiarly—motherly—on Sam's arm.

"Come on, Sam." The words soothed forth low, and gentle. "Why don't you come with me to go and get Cassie from her friend's house?"

And Sam couldn't help but muse, once showered and dressed and seated in the car, that the doctor was pretty good at enabling the denial that she so vociferously denounced.


	4. Point for Point

_The Price of One_

_Point for Point_

Janet had dropped Sam back at home after lunch, rightfully skeptical that the Major would honor her promise to rest. Knowingly, the doctor had called the number in Sam's lab within an hour to check up on her, and to obtain another useless promise that she would take it easy.

Sam hung up the phone with a slight smile, turning back to her computer monitor. She'd been working on the same equation now for several minutes—a conclusion that should have been instantaneous—but which now eluded her with wanton abandon. The darkness of the lab, which had seemed so intimate before, ultimately served to hide her growing frustration.

Why she'd thought that she could get any work done was beyond her. But that's what she knew. Work. Sitting back on her stool, she pondered on what she'd be doing if she weren't here, and was bothered to realize that she didn't have anything else _to_ do. At one point, hadn't she had interests other than this place? But it was hard to think of macramé when the world was in danger. Not that she'd ever done any macramé, but the point still was salient.

So she settled for sitting on her stool at her lab table, watching the lights in the various technical arrays shift and change as information flooded through them. They were pretty in their own way, as incomprehensible as they seemed to everyone else around her, and prettier to her, because she knew what they meant.

Security—or a semblance thereof.

She jumped when a shadow appeared across her table, and a look over her shoudler revealed the Colonel standing in the doorway. Backlit as he was, she couldn't see his expression, but his posture—leaning up against the door jamb with his hands in his pockets—bespoke discomfort.

Sam sucked in a breath, sitting upright. "Sir."

"I thought you were supposed to have some downtime." His voice echoed of accusation and disapproval.

"I got bored."

"So you came back here?" He shifted, shoving away from the jamb with a quick move of his shoulder, his hands remaining in his pockets. "Surely there's somewhere else you'd rather be."

Sam shook her head slowly. "Actually, there was no place else I could think of to go."

"Doc Fraiser said something about junk food and TV."

"Turns out that's not all it's hyped up to be, sir." Sam shrugged. "I thought I could be more useful here."

"How's that working for you?"

She smiled at herself. "Not well."

"How are you feeling?"

The question rang heavily between them, and Sam found herself unwilling to give a pat answer. She stood, taking a step closer to the door, only to see the Colonel shuffle slightly backwards. The corridor lighting hit his face, now, and Sam noticed tight lines drawing his mouth and eyes. His colorless lips were thin, his cheeks pale. And for some reason it irked her, knowing that he was hurting.

She'd been the one zatted twice. By him. He should be seeking absolution, not assurance.

"I've been better, sir." She shrugged. "But what can you do?" As rhetorical questions, it was trite, and she knew it.

"You could follow doctor's orders and try to get some rest."

"I could." Sam wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "But I don't see how rest is going to help the situation."

O'Neill nodded, his eyes dark beneath lowered brows. "It's only been a week. Getting away from here might help you to not think about it."

"Not think about what, sir? How I should have died twice? Or how I'm to blame for it all?"

He stood uncertainly, wary, his weight balanced for flight. With an abrupt upward movement of his chin, he caught her gaze. "Do you really think that?"

"Which part?"

"The part about it being your fault."

She hated that she hesitated before answering. "I'm not sure what to think, sir."

"Daniel seems to believe that you did the right thing."

"Daniel believes a lot of things."

The Colonel steadied himself, taking a paused, halting step forward, obscuring his face in shadow again. Carter didn't know whether it was intentional or not, but she did know that it put her at a disadvantage. She couldn't read him in darkness. Not that she hadn't tried once or twice, but he had a way of hiding behind bravado, or humor, or sarcasm, and whatever else she believed about him, she knew with certainty that he didn't let things slip that he didn't want to reveal. Surely that was part of what made him so good with black ops—what made him so valuable in his capacity with the SGC.

"Are you saying that you don't agree with Dr. Daniel Jackson? That would be a first."

Sam's chin immediately rose, and as valiantly as she tried to quell it, the exasperated breath escaped all the same.

"Carter?"

Her name had become an order. As if he could usurp her nomenclature to suit his own needs. So she steadfastly refused to answer, instead turning back to her table, her stool, and the other random components of her life.

"Major." His voice held a different tone now—resignation. Resolve.

She reached out her hand and grasped an item from her table. It was heavy, and solid, and she found something on it with which to fiddle. She tweaked it with her fingers, determined to accomplish something with it, even if it was wrong. Hoping to prove something impossible to pinpoint.

"Major Carter."

Again, he intruded. Her fingers stumbled, and she dropped the object. Cheeks flaming, Sam stood suddenly, scooting the chair backwards with a sharp move of her foot. She didn't turn to face him. "What do you want, sir?"

"I understand that you're confused."

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I'm not confused."

He paused. "Okay, then, pissed."

She had nothing to add to that.

"But I also know that you made a choice when you insisted on—interfacing—with that thing. You let your curiosity lead, instead of your training."

"Curiosity is the main component of my scientific training, sir."

"But you're a Major in this Air Force, and your responsibilities include preserving the safety of this base and this planet."

"I thought that was what I was doing."

"By blindly allowing it access into your head?" His voice had grown sharper, and he knew it—his next statement was toned down, although just as staccato. "Exactly which part of your training allowed for that?"

She stared at her hands, where they lay, numb, on the table top. Eventually they became blurred—whether by anger, or tears, or the darkness, she didn't know. It didn't matter. She had been trying to do exactly that when she'd placed her hands on that keyboard—her job. To her, the amalgamation of science and military that she practiced was right—was good—and having that second-guessed hurt more than she believed it would. Having that questioned by O'Neill—the man she'd tried so hard to prove herself to for four years—it was unbearable.

"Carter—I'm not saying that all this is your fault." He said the words grudgingly, as if only halfway acceding to their truth. "But I am saying that we averted a major incident by the skin of our teeth. And the initial choices made forced others to make harder, less desirable choices."

"I'm aware of that, sir."

"Are you really?" She heard him shift on the concrete floor, his shoes scuffed as he moved. "Because I'm not so sure you are."

"I know that in this case, my choices proved difficult. I know that things could have—should have-turned out much worse. But I also know that the Entity was something that merited study. It was a sentient being—millions of them, actually—and amazing, given their abilities to transmit themselves across the opposite channel of the wormhole. My interface with them could have been a triumph of scientific and engineering discovery."

"But it wasn't." O'Neill jabbed an open hand in her direction. "It gave us exactly jack squat."

"But if we'd just been allowed time to figure out a different form of communication—the threat of its destruction was what spurred me to try to do it myself, without additional controls."

"And you just jumped at the chance, didn't you?"

She let out a hard, harsh breath. "They had technologies that we could have used—they were advanced far beyond our own capabilities! We could have learned so much from them!"

"They wanted to destroy us, Carter! They used you—all they wanted from you was a vehicle in which to pursue their goal. And here you are, explaining why they should have been allowed to survive!"

"And yet you say that the resulting incident wasn't my fault." She turned to look at him. For a long, long moment, their gazes held, before she finally had to look down. "Which is it? Because, I was just trying to do my job, sir."

And he shook his head exactly once, his lips tight, his eyes inscrutable. "Damn, it Carter!"

"I was just trying to do my job." Who she was trying to convince, now, was immaterial. She knew her statement to be true, even as she conceded that it was little more than an excuse.

Apparent in his heavy exhale, the way his hands fisted at his sides, O'Neill believed it, too. But Sam couldn't ask him why. Couldn't think of the right words with which to frame her defense.

And she barely caught how his jaw clenched as he turned sharply and walked away.


	5. Counterpoint

_The Price of One_

_Counterpoint_

"I thought I might find you here, Major Carter."

Sam startled slightly at the intrusion, then turned her head to see Teal'c standing placidly in the open door, one arm holding it open.

"Well, it is the women's dressing room." She lifted her right hand, in which a small towel swung. "And I am a woman—dressing."

"Of that I am aware." He widened his stance slightly, tilting his head. "However, at this moment you are the only woman present. And you are fully clothed."

She lowered the towel to the seat beside her. "I am. But then, every time you've come in here, I've already been dressed. You have a gift."

He imperceptibly moved one shoulder—it might have been a shrug, if a Jaffa were to shrug.

"Of course, some guys would call that bad luck."

"I am not, as you say, 'some guys'."

She glanced down at her hands, slightly swollen from her time in the gym, and then back up at the large man. "No, Teal'c. You're not."

He shoved the door back a tad further. "And I would hardly believe that if I wished to see you unclothed, a happenstance entrance into the women's dressing room would be the most efficient method of accomplishing that goal."

Sam's mouth curved gently. "You're right. Too many variables."

"As I said, highly inefficient." He inclined his head, his expression shifting slightly. "May I join you?"

"I'm the only one in here—so I guess that's okay."

He moved forward, gently guiding the door as it swung silently shut. The corner of Sam's mouth twitched. Normally, that door squeaked. Teal'c just had a way of making sure that everything he did was silent, stately.

He rounded the end of the bench and lowered himself gracefully to sit next to her. "You appear to be feeling better, Major Carter."

She nodded. "Yes, I do. I just worked out, and that felt pretty good."

"Physically, you are much recovered." Frankly assessing, his gaze roved over her from head to toe before returning to her face. "However, I perceive that you still struggle within."

Sam ducked her chin, avoiding his eyes. Absently, her fingers caught at the coarse nap of the towel on the bench next to her, tugging on the fibers. "I'll be fine, Teal'c."

"I am sure you will." He smiled at her—a real one, not the approximation of a curve that he normally gave people. "However, I remain in the state of being concerned for you."

For the first time in a long time, Sam allowed herself the time to study Teal'c's face. His presence, implacable as always, had never failed to comfort her, somehow. Even in the beginning, when questions loomed heavy throughout the base as to the wisdom of accepting him so fully, she had never once felt anything for him but trust. And now, when she doubted herself, and her mission, she found herself wanting to rely on his steady strength. What was it about this man—this alien man—that engendered such blind conviction?

Blatantly, she studied his face, his posture. "I know, Teal'c. And I appreciate it. I know that I can always count on you."

"It is gratifying to know that you afford me that measure of trust, Major Carter." Nodding once, he captured her gaze. "And fitting as I believe that there is something about which we should speak."

Her fingers stilled on the towel as Sam immediately looked down. She had known he'd been present during the final incident—Janet had been flat-voiced and stark in her retelling of how Teal'c had been there too—armed as had been the Colonel. The base's two greatest protectors prepared to destroy one of their own for the good of the SGC. She bit her lip, steeling herself for the next rumble of his voice.

"Doctor Fraiser has informed me that she has recounted to you all the events of your ordeal."

"She has." Somehow, the words ground out—gritty in her throat.

"I am sure that she included the fact that I, too, was prepared to fire upon your body wherein resided the Entity."

"Yes."

"Colonel O'Neill felt that it was his responsibility to do so."

"He'd already threatened it—it was leaving me. He could have waited to see if they would vacate my body before just—" her hand splayed, she made a halting sliding motion in the air in front of her. Breathing deeply, she tried again. "He didn't have to kill them all."

Teal'c waited patiently—his hands resting, flat-palmed, on his thighs. "Are you then suggesting that his actions were unnecessary?"

Closing her eyes, Sam considered. Necessary, or unnecessary? That was the question. She had been already been preserved by that time—although neither her team nor the SGC at large knew it. By the time the Colonel had fired his twin blasts, she had already been downloaded completely into the mainframe in the MALP room. And feeling, by that time, all the claustrophobic loneliness of the machine—the voices of the millions suddenly nothing more than a memory, a lost cipher. Sam flinched, remembering. The rush, the heat, filled her again—unwanted—and she fought back the revulsion and tears.

The Colonel's actions hadn't been necessary—technically. Sam felt certain that if they had provided a proper conduit, the Entity could then have been transported back through the wormhole without any further losses to either their world or to the SGC.

But the Colonel had no way of knowing that. No way to be assured that the Entity would honor such an arrangement. And for a man such as O'Neill, for whom honor meant all, that fact alone would have been the reason for distrust and aggression.

Like Daniel had said, shoot first and ask questions later.

Sam glanced sideways with a wary exhaustion, only to find Teal'c's dark gaze fixed on her. Ever patient, the Jaffa merely sat and waited for her response.

Touching the tip of her tongue to her lips, she closed her eyes again, briefly, before venturing out of herself again. "Not unnecessary. I think perhaps precipitous."

"Waiting longer might have endangered more lives, Major Carter." Teal'c's voice gently rolled over her. "Neither O'Neill nor General Hammond could have known the results of a decision to do nothing."

Sam studied her toes, bare, pale, and the shoes lying next to them on the floor. "I guess."

"Daniel Jackson has made no small issue of his disagreement with Colonel O'Neill about his handling of the situation."

Sam found herself nodding, her eyes rolling slightly as they flickered to a close. "I know. He came to my house this morning to let me know."

"He believes as you believed, that interaction with the Entity would provide valuable and beneficial information. He resented Colonel O'Neill's impulse to destroy it."

"He did. Does." Sam chewed on her lip. "He's a scientist, Teal'c—he believes in asking questions and then finding answers."

"And you are a scientist, as well."

"I am." She shook her head ruefully. "For what it's worth, lately."

"Do you not believe yourself to be as useful in this vocation as you are in your duties as a military officer?"

"I don't know what I believe right now, Teal'c." Light glinted off her hair as she turned her head to look at him. "This whole circumstance has thrown me for a loop. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. And now everyone's mad at each other, and I can't even make out a coherent argument one way or the other."

Teal'c's face softened, and Sam was surprised when his large hand lowered over hers on the bench. He wasn't the sort of man to touch indiscriminately—the gesture was quiet, yet powerful. As the warm strength seemed to seep into her hand, she concentrated on her breathing—pulling in air—stale and musty in the locker room, with a faint hint of wax and smoke wafting towards her from the Jaffa. He'd kel-norimed lately—she could smell the candles.

"What do you think, Teal'c?"

He didn't answer for a long, long time. Sam had dropped her gaze back to her feet before his hand tightened over hers on the bench. "I think that you expect the answers to be simple, when in reality they may be impossible to find."

"That's very helpful."

Unperturbed by her sarcasm, Teal'c continued. "I am reminded of Anise, and her host, the human known as Freya."

Sam grimaced. She really didn't like to think about those two any more than was absolutely necessary. But she still found herself asking, "What about them?"

"The Tok'ra Anise held science and experimentation in high esteem—ignoring your health in favor of discovery and research."

"She did. And Freya was more human—she seemed a little more concerned about us as people."

"A correlation might then be drawn between Anise and you."

Eyes wide, Sam shook her head. "How? I don't really see it, Teal'c."

"Anise's determination to discover the merits of the Atoneik armbands at all costs put all of your lives in danger."

"Yes." The fact could not be argued. For all of Freya's protestations that Anise had not known about the plan to destroy Apophis' ship, Sam herself had come to the opposite conclusion in hindsight—after reviewing the information provided by the Tok'ra.

And in the end, the myopic determination to focus on those of Earth in order to find the Za'tarcs had proven just as disastrous—Sam could still feel the Zat pulse in her hand, could see the life slip from Martouf as the bluish bands of energy had surrounded him.

She dreamed about it, if events brought it to the forefront of her mind. But then, lately, all her dreams had been disturbing—her new normal, so to speak.

"You are thinking about Martouf."

Sam's faded smile affirmed the truth of Teal'c's statement. "He was a good friend."

The sound Teal'c made then might have been assent or disapproval. Sam couldn't tell which.

"And I killed him."

"His life was taken by the Goa'uld." Teal'c intoned. "He was lost the moment he was made a Za'tarc."

"But I pulled the trigger."

"You preserved his body for study. Your actions have aided us in understanding more about the Za'tarc technology."

Sam snorted lightly. She'd told herself the same things a hundred times. It didn't make the act itself any less reprehensible. She would still rather have had Martouf around than all that wonderful research they'd done on his body. And she wouldn't have to live with the sights and sounds in her mind of taking the life of someone she cared about.

"Do you not recognize the symmetry in events?"

Sam paused for a moment, not wanting to admit that she did. It was too close—too raw. After Janet had brought the same thing up to her earlier this morning, she'd forced herself to acknowledge it, but hadn't been prepared to confront it. The difference mattered little. "I know it's there, Teal'c."

"Your devotion to science is at times more dangerous than your waging of war. If an item is transported through the Stargate in a military capacity, precautions are always taken to assure that the object poses as little threat as possible to the base and to your world."

"We try to be careful."

"Yet on those occasions when an object is encountered where a purely scientific use is perceived, those same precautions are not as stringent." His disapproval drifted heavily between them. "In exploring worlds beyond your own Galaxy, you must learn that dangers exist that do not concern the Goa'uld."

She had nothing to say to that. Her silence attested to the truthfulness of his statement.

"And in your capacity as both warrior and scientist, you have duties that encompass vastly different objectives."

"No offense, Teal'c, but I've heard all this before."

"Of that I am aware." He smiled again, brotherly—his expression kind. "I only wish you to know that I, as your team mate, do support you in both roles."

She nodded, knowing that without having to have it enunciated.

"I do not believe that your devotion to science makes you a weak warrior."

"Thank you, Teal'c."

"However." His low register buzzed through her, and she found herself inexplicably unable to meet his eye. "There are times in which discretion should be sought in regards to the acquiring of new technologies."

His hand tightened again over hers, but she couldn't grasp the meaning of the gesture. Narrowed, her eyes sought his where they glistened like onyx just beneath the grotesque golden tattoo on his forehead.

"Because in military life, good and evil are more clearly delineated than in science. And the costs of discovery can be so high that what has been learned is rendered too dear—too costly." He inclined his head towards her out of something other than respect—kindness, perhaps, or compassion.

She responded, weakly, she felt, but honestly. "We have so much to learn. We know so little, need to acquire so much—"

"That is true." The Jaffa paused. "But at what expense?"

"I'm not afraid to die."

"That much is understood, Major Carter." Teal'c stood in a fluid motion that belied his size. "And I believe that you would put yourself in danger should the situation warrant it. And you would battle well."

"I'd like to think so."

"However, at what cost?" He pivoted slowly so that he stood directly in front of her. "What amount of technology is worth so precious a life, so wondrous a mind, as yours?"

"I'm not anything special, Teal'c." She looked away, back down at the floor, her feet. "I'm just as expendable as the next guy."

His gaze caressed her briefly before a stoic expression stilled his features. "And that is where your understanding fails you, Major Carter."

She looked up at him, her nose crinkling in a silent question.

"Your worth lies in the price others are willing to pay for you."


	6. Equations

**The Price of One**

**Equations**

"Hey, Sam."

Carter looked up to see Daniel enter her lab. He raised his hand to waggle a large folder. "Dr. Lee asked me to bring this to you."

"What is it?"

"The results of the M4C-862 testing." Daniel walked towards her, squinting in the dim light of her lab.

Sam frowned, her eyes keen on the manila packet. "I wasn't aware that they were going through with that project."

He reached across the table and set the folder down in front of her, then claimed a stool and perched himself on it. "They sent a team back through a few days after you—" he faltered, catching her eye uncomfortably. After a ripe pause, he finally swallowed. "After the Entity arrived."

Sam looked away, her hands automatically finding a random piece of equipment with which to fiddle. When would it become acceptable to talk about what had happened? Just give it a name and move on.

"So what are we going to call it?" She peeped at him from beneath her lashes. "We can't just keep dancing around the whole affair, right?"

Daniel stared down at his hands for a long while. When he looked back up at her, the corners of his mouth tilted hopefully upward. "I know. And I know I haven't been terribly comforting for you. Or helpful. I just feel like you and I are being blamed for everything that happened."

"With reason, I believe, Daniel." Sam discovered that the truth was becoming easier to say. "But I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I think we need to admit that it's not possible for us to always be perfectly morally superior all the time. There may be deep ethical implications for what we do, but ultimately, it's all about survival, isn't it? For us all—humans, aliens, space creatures. And in the end, I think that the Colonel, and Teal'c, and I, to some extent, just want the survivors to be us, rather than the other guys."

"That's arrogance, Sam. Remarkable arrogance, considering the beings that we've come across. Beings so much more advanced than we are."

She'd been thinking about this for days—knew which cards to play. Which buttons to push. "Do you remember the Eurondans?"

Daniel grimaced. "I seem to recall that I was the one that figured them out."

"You were—but they were more advanced than we are. Scientifically, and technologically." She waited, knowing that he would grasp instantaneously where she was headed in her reasoning.

"And racist bigots who wanted the complete destruction of anyone not like them."

She merely smiled, her eyebrows arched upwards.

Daniel sighed heavily. "I see your point. But it's still highhanded for us to believe that we are always the ones meant to continue on."

"It is." She nodded, then fingered the folder's edge, rifling the pages within. "But give me an alternative."

He paused, an in the hesitation, Sam heard a measure of agreement. When he spoke again, however, his voice was hard. "Not everything can be solved militaristically."

"You're right." She caught his gaze, searching his expression. "But at the same time, some things—some entities—are beyond negotiation and cooperation. Some things need to be conquered."

"The Entity?"

Sam nodded. "They weren't going to go away, Daniel. I could feel them—hear them, and their intentions weren't admirable. Maybe they were honorable to their own kind, but not to us. Just because they were sentient, advanced, and perhaps superior, doesn't mean that they deserved to live and we deserved to die."

"We could have tried to negotiate more."

"We would have failed. They'd outgrown our base computers in what—a day? How long before they outgrew my brain? How long before they decided to move on to yours?"

A strange, strangled sound came out of Daniel's throat, and Sam tilted her head to one side, watching her friend work through that thought.

"In the end, Daniel, it's all about the sum total of what things are worth, right?" Her voice drifted across the table, quiet in the dim room. "And no matter what value I place on information and science, the lives and souls of people I love and need in my life are worth more."

Daniel shook his head and looked down at his hands, where they rested on his thighs. "Sam—"

"Daniel, I appreciate you being here for me. I do. You're one of my very best friends. And I know that you and I can connect in ways that I can't with other people on base. But in the end, I don't feel that my skills are being misused in this command. I'm needed here. Warts and all."

"But Sam." Daniel lifted his chin to look at her, but stopped when he saw her expression. "You are more than they let you be."

And she felt herself smile, shrugging a little in a noncommittal way. "I'm okay for now. Can we agree to disagree on this?"

Sam watched him consider, saw the play of emotions across his face. Knew she'd won something when he straightened and used a finger to reseat his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

He opened his mouth with a slight smile, catching her eye. "The funny thing is, I don't think we're disagreeing so much about it."

"Oh?"

"I guess that I've been asking myself the same questions since the whole thing began. Come to the same conclusion. It's a hard pill to swallow—when you're determined to look at things logically and fairly, and then to have it all boil down to base need. I had hoped that we were better than that." Her skeptical look drew a wan smile from him, and he scratched absently at his jaw before continuing. "And also, I guess that I'm just really getting tired of being blamed for this kind of stuff."

"Yes, well, finger pointing is one of those human things that we fight to preserve, right?" She leaned her forearms on the table, clasping her fingers. "And when we screw up, we have to be able to acknowledge it and move on."

Daniel smiled and sighed, and then let go a rueful shrug. "Whatever, Sam, I'm glad to have you back."

She watched him stand, and listened, more than followed, his progress towards the exit. At his moment's pause at the doorway, she turned her head to see him watching her. Her eyes asked the question for her.

"Nothing." His reply was accompanied by a small, poignant shrug. And suddenly he crossed the space between them and threw an arm around her, drawing her near in a hard, sideways hug. Pulling away, he smiled down at her. "I'm just really glad to have you back."

And Sam nodded, the corners of her lips curving upward.

She was glad to _be_ back.

----OOOOOOO----

"You're going to be okay?"

"Yeah—sure." Sam grinned. "Just going to pick up some groceries on the way home—maybe some gas."

Janet was looking at her clinically, her full mouth screwed up in a knot. "Well, I just don't like sending you off into the hinterlands all by yourself."

"I don't live in the hinterlands. I live in a sleepy little community not more than eight or nine miles away. I drive one of the safest cars on the planet. I routinely carry a weapon, and am quite good at defending myself. Besides, I've got to do it eventually, Janet. I'll be fine." Sam reached out and gripped her friend's arm. When the diminutive physician raised a well-plucked brow, Sam rolled her eyes. "Really."

"You have your cell phone?"

"All charged and everything." She understood where Janet was coming from, but that didn't stop Sam from feeling like a teenager going to the mall for the first time alone.

"I just worry about you."

"Is this the doctor or the friend talking?"

And at that, Janet grinned. "It's the Mom. I swear all four of you people need nannies."

Sam sighed and stepped forward as the elevator doors opened. Turning, she reached out and punched a button, and then met her friend's eye. "I'll be fine."

Janet raised her finger, pointing it directly at Sam. "Call me later."

Sam couldn't help rolling her eyes again. "Yes, mother."

And as the doors slid shut, Janet held her hand up to her ear, thumb and pinkie extended, fingers folded towards her palm. "Call me!"

In a fit of puckishness, Sam stuck out her tongue, and then grinned when the little physician stomped her tiny little foot in its sensible low-heeled shoe.

And it felt good to laugh—to fight, to tease, to care.

To be human again.


	7. The Sum of It All

_**The Price of One**_

_**The Sum of It All**_

As it turned out, Janet's fears proved unfounded. Alone for the first time in days, Sam enjoyed the process of shopping for groceries, and gassing up the Volvo made her feel more normal than being cleared by the SGC shrink had. Feeling unexpectedly alive, she pushed a speed dial number on her cell phone and called ahead to Manuel's for take-out. She felt like celebrating, and to Sam, that always required fresh pico de gallo. And tonight, a chimichanga, as well.

A knock at the door stopped her in the middle of setting out her dinner. Dipping a chip in the pico, she made her way down the hall towards the entry. Sam tried to turn on the porch light only to find that the bulb had died, but in the dark she made out the outline of a short figure, and sighed. Popping the chip into her mouth, she pulled open the door. "I swear, Janet—"

The light from behind her revealed someone who was conspicuously _not_ Janet. Someone standing not on the porch, but on the second step down, the moonlight limning the gray in his hair to a bright silver.

Sam hesitated, swallowing hastily. "Sir."

"I don't think I've morphed into Doc Fraiser, but stranger things have happened."

Sam looked down. Shaking her head, she resisted the urge to babble. "Yes, sir. They have."

He slid his hands into his jeans pockets, otherwise perfectly still in the dark. Waiting, his gaze on nothing in particular. His patience, his resolve, seemed profound. He'd always been able to do that when absolutely necessary—quell his urge to fidget.

"Would you like to come in?"

He caught her eye, his lips narrowed. "You busy?"

"Not really."

"Carter."

"Just having some take-out, sir."

"Wang's?"

"Manuel's."

"Mmm. Pico de Gallo." For an instant, a light gleamed in his expression, but he stifled it. And, sighing, he glanced at the park across the street from her house and motioned towards it with a nod. "Want to take a walk?"

She hesitated for only a moment. "Sure. Let me put a few things away."

He trailed her into her kitchen, then stood watching absently while she gathered up the foil pans and take-out containers and tucked them neatly into her refrigerator.

"Do you want something to drink?" Why did her voice sound so weak? She cleared her throat surreptitiously and tried again. "Beer? Water?"

His focus went to the can open on her counter. "Got another diet?"

"Pepsi or Coke?"

That stalled him. "You've got both?"

"I'm a Pepsi girl, but Janet thinks it's too sweet."

"Ah." He nodded, one corner of his mouth lifting. "It's a girl thing."

"Sort of." She opened the refrigerator door, casting him an expectant look.

"Coke."

Sam extended the soda towards him, and he accepted it. Staring at the label briefly, he made no move to open it, just silently stood with it dangling in the tips of his fingers.

"Daniel gave me the file." Sam found herself blurting out the words. Anxious to fill the lull? She didn't know—silence didn't normally unnerve her. But lately long periods of quiet had seemed too—_loud_, somehow.

"Which file?"

"M4C-862."

He grimaced then, catching her eye with a wry tilt of his head. "Lot of good it does us now."

"At least the science base can continue there. We've already established that the Goa'uld vacated that moon centuries ago. It's a valid place for a research colony."

"I guess."

"At least, when the moon isn't passing through a polar orbit."

"Yes. Little glowy buggers apparently hate magnets as much as I do."

Sam smiled slightly. Trust the Colonel to say something like that. "As long as they keep solid astronomical data, they should be able to avoid any more issues."

O'Neill paused, swishing his can slightly from side to side. "Lot of good that does Thompson."

Sam nodded, thoughtful.

"Are you going to tell Hailey?"

"What, sir?" Sam looked at him, found his inscrutable gaze uncomfortable. "That she was right?"

He nodded slowly, his lips thinned further. "She might like to know."

"I'm not sure if she'll be happier that _she_ was right or that _I_ was wrong." Sam took a deep breath and frowned. "But then, she'll get used to that—it seems to be happening more and more lately."

"Carter."

"Sir."

And for a moment they were in stalemate, staring at each other over the island in the center of her kitchen, each using it as a shield.

"Carter." Her name was softer this time. He put the still-sealed can on the island.

"Yes, sir?"

With a jerk of his head towards her front door, he said, "Let's walk"

She nodded, mute. On their way back down the hall, she grabbed her jacket and shoved her keys into her jeans' pocket. Flipping the latch on the doorknob, she closed the door behind her, and then took the porch steps quickly to catch up with the Colonel, who was waiting at her front gate.

They crossed the quiet street and headed into the park opposite her house. It was small, and silent, empty but for a jogger far ahead of them. They proceeded off down the path, in similar poses, both with hands thrust down into the pockets of their jackets, long legs striding in cadence.

"Sir, I—" Sam hesitated, fighting to control her voice. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"The whole thing."

He walked in silence for a several moments, until Sam heard him make a garbled noise in the back of his throat. "You've got nothing to apologize for, Carter."

"I do."

"No, you don't."

"Sir—you were forced to do something—terrible—because of me. You had to destroy all those lives—"

He stopped walking and turned to face her. "To be perfectly honest, Carter, I don't give a damn about whatever it was—they were—that took you over. I wanted to blow them up to begin with, remember?"

"Yes, but I know that you don't enjoy killing." She was grateful that the dark prevented her from looking him in the eye. She settled for a spot over his shoulder-where the moonlight gleamed off a metal garbage can. "And you had to, in order to preserve the base. Because of me."

He looked down at his feet, scuffing one sole against the pavement before glancing up at her. "You don't get it, still."

"Get what, sir?"

"That at times, there's no other option." He shuffled himself around, kicked a rock off the path. "Some things deserve to die. Need to be taken out."

"The Goa'uld."

"And other things. Replicators. You can't reason with a replicator. All they want to do is destroy and enslave." He took a step and waited briefly for her to follow before continuing on down the walk way. "And what we do is preserve freedom—that's what the military is for—assuring people the opportunity to live free from oppression. So we take bad guys out—either through diplomacy or through force. We do what it takes so that other, weaker, things can live free."

She smiled a little. "No offense, sir, but you sound like an enlistment commercial."

"Yeah—well, it's true." And she knew, by the tone of his voice, the posture of his body, that he believed it. "But then, I'm a pure military guy—and you're not."

"I think that's been established, sir."

"The fact that you're not a guy?"

Despite the situation, Sam found herself grinning. "Sir."

His face lightened a bit. "Oh—right. The scientist thing."

"I've been taught to question everything as a scientist. There must be proof, tangible evidence, before a theory is proven."

He nodded. "And as a soldier, you're taught to act without question, to trust the lead of your superiors."

She raised a hand and shoved some hair behind her ear. Ridiculously, it occurred to her that she'd come to the point in her haircut when she'd have to either cut it again or try to grow it longer. She'd been at that point several months before, but the choice had been taken from her. She'd arrived back from her time as Thera with her hair shorn close to her head—shorter than she'd ever worn it before. Short hair and long memories, and a decided resentment at having her choices, her life, removed from her without her input.

She hadn't had the opportunity to decide anything that had happened to them before the stamp had started to fade—all her actions, her relationships, had been made out of pure instinct. The non-learned traits of her personality emerging strong in the absence of military discipline and forced habit. And what had she done there, without the knowledge of rules and chain of command? She'd immediately started engineering, figuring things out, finding logical, scientific solutions for the problems in the mines.

And she'd formed relationships. A relationship.

It had been difficult to return to reality. To return to the military aspect of her life. To look at the man now walking beside her and remember to call him 'sir'.

But she'd just now figured out the salient point from that experience. "They don't really mesh well, do they? Human nature yearns towards curiosity, towards free will. In the military, you have to rein that in when you accept another person's leadership over you."

"Self control." And from his sigh, Sam wondered if his thoughts were leading him back to the ice planet, too. "It really bites sometimes."

"And personal sacrifice. Being willing to do things that you would otherwise find despicable."

He nodded.

"Like being zatted on that moon." They had turned a corner, and moonlight illuminated a portion of his face now. She could see his grimace. "And running for the DHD so that the rest of us could get back to the 'Gate."

Snorting deliberately, O'Neill cocked a look in her direction. "Yeah—that worked out well, didn't it?" He turned his face towards the street, where a minivan was passing. "Teal'c had to save my sorry butt."

"He only could because you'd already drawn the swarm." She chewed briefly on her bottom lip before continuing. "It was painful—seeing you being zatted that way. Even knowing that it was the expedient thing to do."

"Militaristically the right thing to do."

"Yes." She stopped in the center of the path. "Just as zatting my body—twice—was the militaristically correct thing to do last week."

He stopped, then slowly pivoted. Sam knew that she was in the strategically weaker position—knew that her face, her every expression, was exposed in the moonlight, but she didn't care. She couldn't hide anything, anyway. "It was the right thing to do."

"It sucked." Vehemence dripped off his simple statement.

"Yes. And it was my fault."

He swallowed, adjusted his stance, then—finally—nodded. "It was. But you've still got no reason to apologize. I know what you are. _Who_ you are. And you're what makes this team work."

"I'm the cause of its problems, usually."

He looked at her fully, and she felt the scrutiny of his dark eyes, rather than saw it. "Maybe. But you're also its soul."

And she found his expression to be one of bleak honesty. She looked down, at her feet.

"Carter."

"Yes, sir?"

"Look at me."

Slowly, she raised her gaze to his.

"I was angry at having to do it. I won't deny that." A strange expression flitted around his mouth, his eyes. "It wanted to kill us all—everything on the planet. And it wanted to use your body to do it. I couldn't let that happen. And it stood there, looking at me from out of your eyes, and I had to take the shot. Saw your body shudder, and fall, and I didn't know if you were still in there somewhere—but there was nothing else to do."

"Sir." She tried to respond, but he continued.

"And yes, it bothered me that you were so desperate to talk with it. I was annoyed that you were negating all your training—that you were blithely putting yourself in a position to be compromised."

"Compromised."

"Yeah." He breathed out what could have been a chuckle, in different circumstances. "Hell of a euphemism."

"It is."

A long pause punctuated her assent.

"I was pissed because it was such a hellish waste. Losing you that way."

She remained silent, sensing that he didn't want an answer yet.

"And whatever we would have learned wouldn't have been worth it. Wouldn't have been worth anything at all since it meant losing you." He looked away—another car meandered past, its headlights flashing around their legs. "I would have done anything to get you back. I would have sent the probes. Every damned one of them. I would have sat in a ship in space and blown the planet to Hell. I don't even care what you would have thought of me or my actions. And I'd do it again."

It occurred to Sam that he was making a confession to her. "Sir, you don't have to justify your actions."

"Sometimes I think that I do, Carter." He lowered his head. "You have this image in your head of me—you think that I'm one of the good guys."

"Sir."

"And I'm not." He spoke to a distant spot on the horizon rather than towards her. "Guys like me exist so that people like you and Daniel can afford to be idealistic."

She allowed his words—their meaning—to sink in, watching him in the shadows. He'd lived much of his life there, performing acts that she frankly didn't want to confront. The world of the SGC, she knew, was far removed from that of special ops—from covert missions where nothing stood in the way of success. Or no one.

And his efficient lethality allowed her to take chances scientifically.

_That_ little epiphany had its price, too. She wondered if she would be so eager, next time, to jump into something unknown, knowing that it might require another piece of his soul as payment.

And Euronda flew back into her mind, standing on the ramp as the iris closed behind him. She'd mistaken the Colonel's expression as horror, as sorrow for what had happened.

But she knew now that he'd been painfully exposed in that moment—that the full measure of his capability had been laid bare. And he'd been asking her—silently—to understand him. To know that no matter what kind of technology the Eurondans could have given them, its source had tainted it. Like the diamonds out of the slave mines in Africa. Tempting, but filthy. So he'd accepted the blood on his own hands—to keep Earth from being stained with all that hatred.

"_Look at what I am," he'd been saying, "And see if you still trust me. See if you still respect me. Look at what I am capable of doing."_

Sam closed her eyes against the image, mentally shaking herself back in to the present. "That's not true, sir." And when Carter caught his eye, she saw the skepticism in his whole being. "Men like you exist because you're survivors. And because you do what it takes."

He made a sharp, guttural noise of dissent.

"You do what the rest of us can't. Or won't. And somehow you keep your sanity, and your humanity. And we owe you too much. More than we can repay."

"For what?"

"For sacrificing so much of yourself for all of us." She hesitated. "For me."

"I would have done it for any of you."

"I know." She tilted her head. "Like you said, you're here to balance out people like Daniel and me. To save us from ourselves."

"Yes, well, we all play our part."

"We do." And on pure impulse she reached out and touched his arm, sliding her hand down until her fingers hooked on the pocket of his jacket. It surprised her, how badly she needed this—to feel the life exuding from another human being. Needed to show him in some way what she was feeling—but words seemed inadequate to say that she understood—appreciated—accepted the vagaries of their lives. "Sir, I—"

He withdrew his hands from his pockets, and she suddenly found herself engulfed by him—her face pressed against his shoulder, his arms firmly around her body. Her own arms wrapped around his waist, her hands flat on his back underneath his jacket. She felt him breathe deeply next to her ear, and closed her eyes at the warmth—the life she felt coursing through him—through herself. She could count his heartbeats in the dark quietude that descended around them, could feel him breathe.

And in the complexity of the moment, she knew that she wouldn't fear the silence again. The voices were gone, the terror had fled. In this moment, she had no reason to doubt. And when he dipped his face into the curve of her neck, his large body finally relaxing, she realized that he'd been needing it too—needed the simple touch of another person. It was simple, this sharing of life, and healing, and comfort. Pure, and profound. Remarkable that such a touch could accomplish so much.

As another car passed, he stirred, raised his head, his voice low in her ear. "So, are we okay?"

Carter pulled away, looking up at the Colonel's still shadowed face. "Shouldn't I be asking that question?"

"Probably."

By some unspoken mutual choreography they turned and started walking back towards her house. Closer now, their arms swung close enough to bump. She counted eight steps before a shove at her shoulder jostled her.

She grinned, found herself able to cock a brow. "So, are we okay?"

The Colonel nudged her again with his shoulder. "That depends."

"Oh?" Her grin slipped somewhat. "On what?"

He caught her gaze, his expression one of exaggerated solemnity.

"Well first of all, it depends on whether or not you're going to share that salsa."


End file.
